Monday, May 12, 2008

I feel like a frasier writer having to put clever titles and I am not a writer for Frasier, and it doesn't sit well.

Oh No. I just looked over some of todays posts and typos snuck in everywehre, and I don't think I ever did grasp punctuation. Now, I'm going to have to edit each and every one and I will not have time for anything else. I wonder if the Nanny could fix my posts. She's not an illegal and she went to grad school for English. She might even have her P.H.D. I'll ask her the minute she empties my 10 year old's drool cup.

Delmont's second to last poem before he passed. Untitled.

I saw your novel as ellipticalNo, you said,"it's a period piece" "MY." I replied.That answer is parentheticalUgh, she said, resorting to onomatapeiawhile I scribbled my poetryadding a comma where it didn’t belongmaking of this a dirgewhen it could have beena song.

long or short it turned outwrong as an epic poema terse chapter, not an everlasting tomelocked up within your penblanket statements filled in the blanksassonance and dissonancewere weapons disposable to you as a scribebut you pitted them against eachotherinstead of makin em jibethe dialogue became george constanza by way of Shakespeare and tona danzayou were too young to know about Mario lanzaIs this a stanza?Never secure of the barometer used To judge iambic pentameterNever knew if what I was feeling would fit into haikurhyming fell out of fashionand I had to find a way to unryhme my passionin a way that seemed stranger than fictionand without the help of diction.

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